The Strangers by Jacqueline West

Author:Jacqueline West
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101593820
Publisher: Dial
Published: 2013-07-16T07:00:00+00:00

“Good-bye!” Robert shouted after her. “Come back anytime! All shows are free!”

Morton was waiting for her by the frame, his chin tucked to his chest.

Olive took him by the arm. Together, they climbed out of the painting, landing softly on the bedroom floor.

“What did you mean?” Olive whispered as they slipped back into the hall, Morton leading the way. “That we’re not supposed to talk about it?”

Morton threw her an exasperated look. “We’re not supposed to talk about it!” he hissed back. His eyes flicked around the darkening hallway. “They’ll hear you!”

“But the McMartins are gone.”

Morton halted in front of the painting of Linden Street, refusing to speak until Olive took his arm again and pulled him through the frame.

“They’re never really gone,” he muttered, once they were safe on the other side, sprawling in the dewy grass. He wriggled his arm out of Olive’s grip.

“Maybe we could ask your neighbors about magic, just to make sure,” said Olive, getting to her feet.

“You can ask them,” said Morton. He strode ahead of her up the hillside. “I already know the answer.”

Candles glowed softly from inside closed windows as Olive and Morton hurried along the street. In dark second-floor bedrooms, curtains twitched as they passed by. Olive glanced up at the house next to Morton’s—the house that belonged to Mrs. Dewey inside the real world—and spotted an old lady in a ruffled nightcap rocking very slowly back and forth in a rocking chair on the porch.

“Hello,” called Olive.

“Evening,” said the woman.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” Olive began, “but we wondered if we could ask you something.”

“She means if she could ask you something,” Morton corrected.

The woman went on rocking softly. “You may,” she said.

“Thank you. Um, you wouldn’t happen to be a—I mean, Aldous McMartin didn’t have any reason to think you were a witch, did he?”

The chair stopped rocking. The woman didn’t answer.

“I mean,” Olive struggled on, “maybe you used magic, or you knew something about it that—”

“‘Knew something’?” the woman interrupted in a hushed voice. “The only thing I knew about magic was that it was safest to know nothing about it.” Tugging her shawl around her body, she stood up and went swiftly into her house. The door pulled itself shut behind her.

“I told you,” Morton muttered.

“And what are you two up to now?” asked a voice from behind them.

Olive and Morton spun around.

An old man with a long, crinkly beard strolled toward them across the deserted street. Mist rippled around the cuffs of his pajamas.

“Hello, Mr. Fitzroy,” said Olive politely. “We were just asking—”

“She was just asking,” Morton interrupted.

“I was asking if anyone else in this neighborhood had . . . powers. Like Aldous McMartin.” Olive swallowed, looking up into the man’s stern face. “If he might have thought that any of you could use magic. If he thought you were a threat.”

“No,” said the old man. Beneath his bushy eyebrows, his paint-flecked eyes shuttled between Olive and Morton. “None of us were.” He folded his arms.

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